Bonding Camp by Christelle Mirin Read Free Book Online

again, full and hearty. “Nothing beneath the dress.
    How convenient.”
    She let out a short, clipped scream, then an “oof” when he slung her over his shoulder, her bottom high in the air.
    “Nice,” he said, running his fingers along the cleft of her rounded ass.
    She kicked and quivered, an intoxicating combination. “Let me down,” she said, hitting him in the back with a fist.

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    He gasped then smiled. She will be wonderful at this . Then he pushed through the door to his inner sanctum at the back of his office.
    The room was dark and warm. Morgan flicked a switch along the wall, and soft recessed lighting illuminated what was otherwise a room painted completely black. A gleaming silver chain hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. Morgan reached into a built-in drawer and removed a set of handcuffs.
    “Now, I’m going to put you down, and to save you from injury, you are not going to fight me for a few moments. Agreed?”
    “Agreed.”
    Morgan slid her off his shoulder.
    She stood in front of him, wearing only a pair of yellow high-heeled sandals, her eyes glued to the set of handcuffs in his hand.
    “Raise your wrists,” he said.
    She raised her hands, and Morgan clipped the cuffs on her. He grabbed the chain holding the cuffs together and raised it then latched it inside the hook dangling from the chain on the ceiling.
    “Are you in pain?” he asked, stepping away and removing his shirt.
    The metal jingled with her movement. “I’m fine,” she said with a tremble in her voice.
    Morgan looked at her and groaned. She was luscious, her long blonde hair cascading around her shoulders, her arms stretched high above her head, causing her teardrop-shaped breasts to jut forward.
    They sat high and firm, with pale pink nipples standing erect like hard little pearls.

    * * * *
    Lauren trembled, the chill of the metal cuffs a stark contrast to the heat she felt at her core. She grasped the chain she was latched to in one hand and tilted her head back, her eyes still glued to Morgan’s dark gaze. Her position wasn’t uncomfortable, not yet anyway, but 46
    Christelle Mirin
    she wished she had thought to kick off her sandals. The high heels were stretching her calves. She hoped they didn’t cramp.
    She ran her tongue over her upper lip and took a deep breath then twisted slightly as if she was struggling against her bonds. The movement caused her swollen breasts to bounce. She had to stifle a smile when Morgan’s nostrils flared and his shaft, which was at full attention, twitched as if it was straining to get to her.
    Parting her lips, she watched him through half-closed eyes. His body was sculpted and massive.
    Morgan moved toward her, his look determined. “Miss Brooke,”
    he said, his voice a low rumble, “I think you are shaking.” He loomed beside her now. “Let me see…” He splayed one hand across her lower abdomen.
    She gasped, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. The heat of his hand seared her skin, inciting her jewel box to become slickened with her cream.
    “Are you afraid?” he asked, his lips against her ear, his other hand reaching to cup one globe of her ass.
    The act. Nod your head, a tiny voice inside her said.
    “Y-Yes,” she answered, making her voice hitch.
    Morgan groaned deep in his throat. The hand that was cupping her ass moved to the back of her head, and he pulled her head back by her hair.
    Lauren let out a small yelp, unprepared for the quick movement.
    Morgan’s lips found hers, crushing, claiming her mouth.
    Lauren tried to turn her head, remembering her part to struggle with him.
    He chuckled then drove his tongue past her lips at the same time the hand that was on her stomach slid down, parting her cleft. Then fingers—thick, hot fingers—drove deep into her wet pussy. His tongue thrust into her mouth, matching the rhythm of his long fingers inside her.
    Lauren moaned, her knees becoming watery and weak.

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    Morgan